We Drink The Fatal Drop
by Necchan
Summary: Last Chapter of the Love Until We Bleed Saga. They tried to fight it. Now, they succumb. Version censored to suit  policy. :


**Title:** We Drink The Fatal Drop.

**Fandom:** DCU- Batman.

**Rating:** **NC-17, tuned down to R to suit policy. Full version available at necchan (.) livejournal (.) com (slash) 316596 (.) html**

**Genre: **Angst. Romance. Humour.

**Wordcount: **9283. 13 pages. Not, I'm not joking.

**Characters/Pairings: **Jason Todd/Tim Drake.

**Betaed by: **gravitycomplex and avanalae (thanks, my sweet ones!). Any remaining mistake is mine... or due to lousy habit of cutting off portions of the text when the punctuation doesn't suit its taste. B(

**Warning: **Jason ( ), slash, SEX.

**Summary: **"I'm about to snap," he warned Tim very, very carefully. Tim nodded back seriously, met Jason's averted eyes.

"I've been waiting for you to."

**Notes: **Takes place in the "(love) Until We Bleed" 'verse. This implies that Tim's on the prowl for his very own Jaybird, but Jay's got a very bad cause of the denial. This chapter also bring this verse to an end. Thank you everyone for reading this, and for all the support. More might come, since I do have the ideas for it. I just need struggle them into submission, first. :/

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><p><strong>E<strong>ver since he'd claimed the flat as his own, a part of Jason kept complaining about how easily it was to access his room from the rooftops.

On this particular night, as Jason landed with a grimace on the building facing his own, that part of him was systematically picked up by the rest of his brain, tossed around, given a pair of concrete shoes and dumped into a virtual rendition of Gotham Bay.

It was well past midnight. Rain fell down so harshly that each drop prickled like a needle against Jason's tense shoulders. A dark, reeking fog curled up from the streets, hiding everything from view like a wool blanket. Gotham was eerily quiet this late into the night; hushed like a cemetery and just as empty. Jason gave a perfunctory glance to his right and left, and then aimed the grappling hook to the ledge right over his bedroom window.

Normally, he wouldn't have bothered with the line – hooks and cables were _Bat_ material, and the Red Hood preferred to fly without aid or restraint – but he was feeling anything but _normal._

His head buzzed. His body ached. It _throbbed_, worn-out and brimming with pain. He was cold, his clothes heavy with rain, dark with sweat and no small amount of blood. Underneath, his body was a study of injuries: blue and yellow like a canvas, new bruises blooming onto older bruises spreading over pinkish scar tissue, barely just healed. He rarely ever took notice of pain, but he'd been working at a punishing rate, going out every night, _several times each night_, for weeks on end.

Tonight's stunt (a child molester had strayed into his turf, and Jason had felt obliged to go say hello. And by 'hello' we mean that he hung the loser by his big toes on top of the tallest building he could find), was only the last on a long, long list. Prowling the streets night and day; challenging dealers and rapists and murders head-on; throwing thieves around; beating crooks senseless, saving kids, disarming corrupted cops, getting hurt over and over and again, the Red Hood had known no rest ever since the _break_-

(shut up)

-the last time he'd seen-

(SHUT. _UP.)_

_-Tim._

Jason swore. Slipped as he landed, clutched the ledge so hard he thought he felt it crack under his fingers. He flung himself inside his room with a sort of vengeance, teeth gritted hard enough that the coppery tang of blood flooded his tongue.

He was already half-way through the room and yanking his sodden turtle-neck off, when that part of his brain that disapproved of easy rooftop access regained sudden life, acquired several supporters, _and began to curse him in all the languages it knew_.

His room had been _broken in_.

The window hadn't been latched. There was moisture on the floor: a dark stain right under the window, plus a faint trail leading to the collage of pictures and newspaper cut-outs he kept pinned in a board on the southern wall. His pillow looked wet, too, and suspiciously crinkled: as though someone had been squeezing or pressing down on it, and only recently let it go. Not to mention that the shadows weren't deep enough to hide the familiar outline wedged in the corner behind his bed.

Jason paused a moment, then went ahead and ditched the shirt, anyway. He'd never cared for decency before, and he wasn't planning on starting now. The wet fabric clung and hitched in ways he truly didn't care for, and honestly? The quickened breathing emerging from the shadows told him the display was being appreciated. He grinned in the dark, muscles rippling as he rolled up the shirt and squeezed the excess water out.

A sharp intake of a breath, and then Robin was ducking, rolling out of hiding. The shirt Jason had flung at him splattered against the wall, then fell with a wet squelch on the floor.

"Well, well, well. Look what the storm dragged in. You lost, Pretender?"

Pretender.

Not Baby Bird, Baby B, Baby, or any other endearment.

_Pretender._

Robin's mouth worked soundlessly a couple of times, then was pressed shut with a faint tremor. Jason told himself he was imagining the hurt that flickered across Robin's face as fast as lightening.

"Well, _whatever_. You know what? You got in, I imagine you know how to get out. _Now."_

Jason flopped noisily onto the edge of his bed, much more interested in getting his boots off than watching Robin's departure. He wrestled with the knots for a moment, deliberately ignoring his guest, and triumphed over his socks only after an intense struggle. He hadn't paid attention to Robin's whereabouts for several moments, so he was caught understandably off-guard when Robin dropped down from seemingly nowhere to straddle his lap.

Jason tensed.

Cold, wet, naked from the waist up, feeling Tim's pliant hot body pressed up against his own wasn't _just_ nice.

It was a _shock_.

Warmth flooded him, sudden and swift. A fire spreading from the centre of his chest outwards, making his skin tingle sweetly. He fought down a shiver as deft hands moved along the planes of his body, the touch barely-there and careful – skimming up along bruised ribs, across healing cuts, over burned skin and scar tissue – and came to rest above his heart. Blue eyes flickered up to meet his own, and the colour took him off guard, for a moment. Not because he had forgotten it in the past few weeks, no; but rather because of how vividly perfect it had stood out in his dreams for all those nights.

"Does it _hurt_?"

_A whole fucking lot_, Jason wanted to answer. But he wouldn't have meant the visible wounds. So he swallowed down the urge (touchhimholdhimkisshim), grasped Tim's hand and tossed it away from his chest as though it burned him (and it _did_).

"I dunno. Is blood red, Pretender? The sort of question is _that?"_

Tim made a humming sound, and kept tracing Jason's wounds, fingers dancing along the scar on the side of his neck; feathering along the line of his jaw, pressing gently into the back of his neck and racking through his hair. And then Tim was draping his arms around Jason's neck, and his breath was fluttering hot and fast against Jason's mouth.

Jason had all the time in the world to think up a scathing retort, to grumble it out and push Tim away from him.

He did none of these things.

Tim's fingers tightened into his hair, and their lips touched briefly. Once, twice, three times. Tim's lips parted, moved as though with whispered words. His tongue touched against Jason's mouth, and he couldn't help but allow for a brief, mellow kiss.

When he pulled back, it was with a low, weary-sounding exhale.

"I thought..."

Tim silenced him with a second kiss, still slow, but deeper. The warmth pooling at Jason's chest began to spread, seeping towards his toes, his head, his _groin. _He curled his fingers around Tim's wrist; felt the pulse beat a quick staccato under his thumb. He slipped his other hand around Tim's waist. Then he flipped them over, too fast for Tim to react, and pinned Tim to the bed with his bulkier frame.

"I _thought,_" Jason repeated, voice harsh and clipped, "that I'd made it clear last time_." _

He yanked the mask off Robin's face. With no solvent to soften the glue, it must have hurt incredibly; and yet Tim barely made a sound. His body jolted once underneath Jason's own, and then he lay passive once more.

"_Stay away from me._"

"Not happening."

Jason exhaled through his nose, trying to find his balance.

"I'm..."

"_Mine,_" Tim informed, pushing against him.

"Am I, now?"

He pushed. _Hard._ Folded Tim like a toy, knees pushing like a violation between his thighs, forearm digging into his throat.

Tim didn't fight.

Instead, he let his legs fall open, allowing Jason closer. He arched his neck into the chockehold, until his vision dimmed and his lugs burned and his heart hammered in ways he hadn't expected it to.

Jason waited an heartbeat, two, three. Then he wrenched back with a growl, releasing Tim as though he'd been burned. He grasped Tim's hand, and it was only when Tim drew in a shuddering gulp of air that Jason realized he hadn't been breathing himself.

"Fuck it, Tim! You-you _don't-fuck!"_

Lost for words, Jason opted for a concrete outlet for his anger. He leapt away from the bed, away from Tim, and began to pace. His feet took him towards the collage of pictures on the wall, and it was Tim again, Tim all over, Tim in his old Robin suit, a younger Tim, soft and pliant, red and green and yellow, bright against the dark backdrop of Gotham's smoky night. Incensed, Jason knocked the board with a broad swipe of his arm, sent it flying and swore, low and through his teeth.

He leaned his forearms against the wall, breathing deeply with his rage, fully expecting Tim to slip away while he wasn't looking (and quite frankly prepared to let him go, _go_, foolish little Robin, go, _get away from me_).

Tim, bless his besotted little self, threw him for yet another loop. Instead than fleeing, he slid slowly up to Jason, wound his arms around Jason's waist, pressed one cheek between his shoulder-blades.

Caught off guard, Jason moved away from the wall to look at Tim, and Tim deftly ducked under Jason's outstretched arm. He went to curl in the small space between the wall and Jason's chest, looking up at him.

"_Mine," _he repeated. Then he went and playfully kissed Jason on the tip of his nose.

Suddenly, it was too much. Dwarfed under the weight of a desire he'd held back for too long (three weeks, four days and seven hours since he last saw Tim. Four years since the Pit. Seven since the coffin. A couple of lovers in-between, but never loved ones, never people _in love with him_), Jason caved in.

With a groan like a wounded animal, he swept down and captured Tim's mouth, pressed, nibbled, _forced_ it open, mastered it with tongue and teeth.

All he found was welcome.

Tim made a luxurious moaning sound, wound his arms around Jason, kissing back frantically, wriggling and rocking until somehow he was pressed into the wall and his buttocks had worked themselves into Jason's palms, and – _damn_. Jason – okay, Jason had told him to _scram,_ and he'd meant it too, but – Tim was arching into his touch, chest and mouth _vibrating_ as he made this long, purring noise of delight and scraped his nails along Jason's back (fuck, when had he taken the gloves off?), and – and – and – and Jason just _had_ to yank him closer and touch him all over and kiss him like he was trying to devour him, okay?

It suddenly felt like his sanity depended on it, on _this_ – touching Tim, kissing Tim, pinning him down and holding him tight, as if he was a part of his own body, something precious and long-lost, long coveted; holding him as though they could go back to being something whole if they tried hard enough.

* * *

><p>It couldn't be more than a few minutes before Jason regained (relative) control of his faculties. He pulled back to catch his breath, smirking when Tim dazedly tried to follow him up and start another kiss (or twelve).<p>

For a long minute, Jason gulped down air like a man drowning; then he settled his forehead against Tim's own. He could feel Tim's body shudder with each breath he took, feel his heart thump wildly under his ribcage. He could _see_ it fluttering at the base of Tim's throat. The sheen of sweat on his skin looked inviting, of all things. It made Jason's mouth twitch for a taste.

"Why are you here?" he blurted out before he could either chicken out or wise up (he wasn't sure which).

Tim bit his bottom lip.

"To talk."

"Because we're so fuckin' good at that."

"_That's_ why we need to talk."

Jason sighed. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But -

"Talk away."

"You... you must stop trying to push me away," Tim whispered. His voice was soft, scratchy. It caught on the last syllable, and his lips tightened into a firm line. The look of accusation on his face was mingled with a undercurrent of hurt, simmering like candle-flame in his overtly bright eyes.

Jason buried his head against Tim's neck.

"It's not like it actually works though, does it?"

Tim nudged him, nosing Jason's cheek until he met his eyes.

"I... I already gave you the speech about how much it hurts when you reject me, right?"

Jason forced out a snort.

"Around the thirtieth time I gave _you_ the speech about how better off you'd be without me. Point being?"

"Point being, you need to stop babying me."

"I don't-"

"What? You don't treat me like I can't make my own choices? Like I need to be protected from what I want? Jason, I - I'm not a helpless victim who needs to be saved by the handsome vigilante. You don't _have_ to protect me._"_

"Sure I don't. Because it's not like Robin ever needs his ass saved, right?" Jason moved back enough to stare Tim down in the eyes, choked with emotion. "It's not like he gets bound or tortured on a daily basis, or, I dunno, beat with a crowbar or almost raped in a warehouse when he's left unsupervised, oh no!" The muscles in his throat worked noisily as he swallowed, and even his chest seemed to spasm. But he didn't let up, he just kept pushing words out, angry and flushed: "And it's not like the Red Hood is _not_ something you should stay the hell away from either, right? It's not like it might get you kicked out of the family if you get too involved with me. It's not like it might get you _killed!_"

"_I know that!" _Tim burst. "You think I don't? Jason – Jason, I – _I just want you!_ Why can't you let me make my own choices? What will it take for you to realize that I'm not _just_ Robin, I'm Tim! I'm _Timothy Jackson Drake_. And just like you, I've _never_ been anyone's responsibility but my own! I don't _need_ you to choose for me! I don't _want_ you to protect me if that means I can't have you!"

"Why would you even _want_ me!" Jason yelled back, still chocked, still angry, still raw. "What's there to want in the first place, what-" he started when Tim placed a gentle hand on his cheek. He didn't mean to - he didn't _want_ to – but he trailed off, grasped onto that hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the sweaty palm and inhaling deeply.

Tim looked at him, looked at the place where their hands connected; followed the curve of Jason's cheekbone, the line of his nose, up to where his eyebrows were scrunched in the middle of his forehead. He couldn't resist reaching up, trying to smooth the crease with the tip of his finger.

"There's plenty to want, Jay," he whispered.

Jason's eyes snapped open at the sound of Tim's voice, his expression wavering between incredulity and rage, and perhaps even hope.

"Tim-"

"_Plenty,_" he repeated firmly. And the look on his face gave Jason pause.

Honestly, Jason was used to people staring at him in all sorts of ways. Fear. Hatred. Disgust. Disappointment. Shock. Pure, unadulterated terror, the kind that would fill the eyes of a small animal faced with a predator; the kind that would send grown men running, cowering, and would cause blood to be spilled.

There had been days, soon after his dip in the Pit, when in his mind 'being feared' somehow equalled 'not being useless'; and he got drunk on that feeling, curled his fists tight around it and used it as the fuel to push his body on and on _and on_.

But he'd never seen someone terrified of losing him. He'd never been looked at so earnestly; begged soundlessly not _to leave_, but rather _to stay_.

_Stay._

You've hurt me, Tim's eyes seemed to say. But it's okay. Just don't leave. Just stay.

With me.

_Stay._

As the silence stretched, the edge of Tim's lip curled up; a rueful, little smile. He titled his head in that way he had, inquisitive and bird-like and fuckin' a-dork-able.

"Why else do you think I'm still putting up with your idiot ways?"

_After you've hurt me so much?_

_And to think that I just wanted to protect him_, Jason thought._ How come I always end up aiming for more than I can achieve?_

"It's a losing battle, isn't it?" He mused. His fingers had found their way through Tim's hair, and Jason didn't know how or why or even when, but he was all right with it.

"You're the one who's making this into a battle, Jay. It doesn't _have_ to be."

"Exactly what I was talking about. I never can do anything right with you, can I?" he sounded weary; but also a bit amused underneath. "Even when I try to do the right thing, I still end up being the bad guy. There's just no way to get it right."

Tim briefly contemplated the merits of admitting that even at his worst, Tim would always, _always_ think of Jason as a good man first and foremost. He decided that the resulting scepticism wouldn't be worth the headache, and opted for pressing closer instead, curling against Jason in a way that made him skip a breath.

"I know what you were trying to do, Jay. You tried to make me regret my feelings for you sooner rather than later. You thought you were protecting me. You thought it was the right thing to do. And I get it, I really do. But... have you ever considered that... that I may _never_ regret it? Ever? That being with you might be the best thing in my life?"

"You don't mean it."

"And you keep thinking you can decide what I do and don't feel. I know what I said, and I mean every word."

Jason shivered; a full-body shudder. He pressed closer, looming, maybe trying to look dangerous, who knows; or maybe trying to appease that beast inside him that needed TimTimTim_Tim_.

"We... there's no way it can work between us, Tim."

"It might, if you just let me in." His voice was soft, a struggle between hurt and hope. "Would it be so bad, Jay? Would it be so horrible to have me?"

"I've-" what could he say? I've dreamed of it? Dreamed of you? Of making you mine? Of claiming you so completely, you'll never leave me? To burn myself into you, and leave a scar deeper than words could explain? Could he say "I need you" and "I'm sorry" and "I know I've hurt you, but it's only because I love you"? Did he have any right to say any of that?

"It's not you," he said at last. Honesty had never been his best weapon, but he'd been trained to use what worked best. "It's _me_."

"Do I need to clamp my ears shut now? Because that sounds _awfully_ like a break-up speech."

The little quip made Jason's lips quirk up, however briefly. It took him less than a heartbeat to school his features back into something dark and sombre.

"At the end of the day, the truth is that I'm not good for you," he murmured. "Heck, I'm not even a _good_ man, how can I be good for you?"

_Only that you make me wish I were, _he thought_. I brag and boast but I'm nowhere near as strong or smart or confident as I want others to think I am. But when you look at me like I'm so fucking _right_, I want to be, Christ how I want to be – strong and smart and confident and right – for you._

"I think you are – _and before you start it again,_" Tim warned, "I'm aware of the sort of baggage you're going to drag in this relationship. And while I'm willing to give you a second chance, Jay, I—I won't object to you _working_ for it. I'm not..." he huffed. "I'm not a-a fool. And I'm not a saint. I'm going to drag a huge deal of baggage in this relationship too, and-I guess what I'm saying is that I'm willing to try. I'm willing to compromise, but I _need_ you to work with me, I... I just –_ I think we can have something. _I think we can be happy, if you let us, and we – we deserve that, don't we? And I-_-_I'm rambling here, stop me whenever you see fit._"_

Jason blew the white tuft away from his eyes, and played with the fingers that had somehow laced themselves with his own when he wasn't looking.

"You should leave me alone," he muttered, but it sounded perfunctory even to his own ears.

Tim's wrists were red from his manhandling, so Jason lowered his mouth to them, soothingly trailed his tongue along the fingermarks in wordless apology.

"Jason," Tim began, his voice caught between a whisper and a moan, "You-" he swallowed, exhaled a whiny little breath, "I – we don't-_oh._"

He'd never known the inside of his wrist was _so sensitive to stimulation_. Filing the discovery under Something To Be Researched Thoroughly Later On, Tim forced his brain back into gear, took a deep breath, meaning to say something deep and witty and meaningful that would make Jason change his mind and finally _see_ him, not Robin, not Timothy Jackson Drake, but him, the real him, _Tim._

He meant to be honest. Meant to say: I need you; please need me too.

Meant to say: you can't ask me to give you up, not after I finally know how it feels to have you pressed against me, holding me, after all those years of wishful thinking.

Meant to beg: have me. Have me, and I'll make it so you'll never regret it. I'll lay down beside you each night, and I'll let you own me, I'll let you do anything to me, anything you've ever dreamed of doing to someone else's body, I'll bear the scars of your love like something to be proud of, and if that's not what you want from me, then it will still be all right, I'll still hold you close and kiss you and rock you gently and chase away the shadows from your dreams, so that you might never again wake up alone in the dark.

"I love you, Jay," he said instead; a breezy, shuddering whine in stead of a divine revelation. "Why can't you love me too?"

He flinched, watching Jason freeze above him; freeze and get this shocked, wondering look on his face; freeze and then snort, snort and smile, a soft, lovely thing, a barely-there quirk of his lips, lips that – _oh,_ that came to rest onto Tim's forehead and moved, and in moving they muttered:

"You think I'd try so hard to keep you safe, if I didn't care?"

-making Tim's heart trip over itself.

Then, after a few moments of careful caresses, Jason's lips were moving again, trailing feather-light along Tim's nose and onto his cheek, and from there they skimmed across Tim's own lips. A flick of his tongue, and Tim was opening his mouth to Jason, surrendering everything he had up to the other Robin.

They were touching now, touching suddenly, touching _all over_. Touching with an urgency that was frightening, touching with a sweetness that shouldn't belong to people such as them – fighters, soldier, vigilantes – touching, _touching,_ kissing hungrily, moaning into each other's mouth, clinging, fitting together like two halves of a whole.

Tim's hand fluttered for purchase along Jason's bare skin, nails scraping down his sides, raking across his back, up, down, clinging, slipping. When his hands found the waistband of Jason's jeans, he clung tight onto the front, used the new-found leverage to push back and up into the kiss.

Jerking his hips up came instinctive to him; it felt odd and beautiful, and the surprise helped him push against Jason until their positions were reversed: Jason sprawled against the wall as Tim blanketed him, hot and eager, as if he would slip under Jason's skin if only he could.

It was with an effort of will that Jason closed his hand around Tim's own and moved away from the kiss.

Tim looked dazed and flushed and _hungry; _he looked confused, too, and Jason suddenly felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

"You," he licked his lips. His breathing was strained. His chest felt like it was about to burst. His jeans were so tight they hurt. "You should go, now."

Tim pulled away a little, panting; looked up at Jason with demand and suspicion.

"No more pushing me away?"

The muscles of Jason's throat worked nosily as he swallowed, teetering on the edge of the decision, and then letting go, like it was a effort, like it came natural: _surrendering._

He shook his head.

"No. No more pushing you away."

"Not _ever_?"

"No, not – not ever."

Tim's grin was wide, sudden. Beautiful.

"Then let me stay," he said. "Let me stay here, _now_."

He unclasped his cape, and let it fall behind him. His belt followed, clinking quietly in the dark.

Jason swallowed. His throat felt dry all of a sudden, as though he had been breathing fire and dust. Was Tim aware of what he was asking? What he was _offering_?

"_Tim._ Tim, _no_."

"_Yes_." He unbuttoned his shirt, left it hanging open at his neck. "You promised me. So show me that you meant it." He trailed a finger down Jason's chest, tracing the multitude of scars. "I can – I could talk to you for hours, lecture you on the unpredictability of human hearts and how no relationship is guaranteed to work in the long run, if not by mutual effort. I could tell you how I think we can make this work. How I think you're a good person. How I always looked up to you, from the beginning. And you would yell at me. And get angry. And run. And then I'd follow and we'd start fighting all over again, fighting until we bled."

His hand slipped back up along the planes Jason's body, looking for that deep, jagged line at the side of his throat. He found it, rubbed it pensively.

"Or you could – you could just make good of your promise. And let me-" _bind yourself to me_ "- get undressed."

Jason took a deep breath, kept it in. He released it slowly, and reached down to cup Tim's bony hips with both hands. He felt sluggish, tingling, and mad, but the madness was of a different sort than usual: no booming laughter or falling crowbars or flashes of blood. Only heat, heat in the middle of his forehead, heat in his chest and groin, heat and spiking arousal and jagged breathing and sluggish _want._

"I'm about to snap," he warned Tim very, very carefully. Tim nodded back seriously, cocked his head to catch Jason's averted eyes.

"I've been waiting for you to."

"I... can't guarantee it won't hurt."

Tim shrugged.

"It will _have_ to, since... I've never done this before."

"_Nev...?_ You... I... Jesus, I... oh, _fuck..."_

Tim smiled, put his hands around Jason's neck gently, as if he might bolt otherwise.

"That's the plan_. _Hopefully to be operative soon?"

Jason breathed out a sound that was suspiciously close to a whimper.

"You have _no idea_..."

"No, _you_ have no idea. Wanting you. Mourning you. Trying to make you proud. And then seeing you again. Feeling your hate. Fighting you. _Failing_ you. Watching you slip right through my fingers – no. No, _you have no idea how it_-"

Suddenly, he was snatched into a rough embrace, an ever rougher kiss. There was no hesitancy at all – as though a dam had broken, crumbled down, and there was no way to stop the flood now, no way to survive the pressure.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>Tim had been privy to the fact that there was life after orgasm from the tender age of thirteen, when he'd first looked the term up on the encyclopedia (along with anything he could find on how the prolonged exposure to certain stimuli at a early age might develop into a kink). Nevertheless, he was still faintly surprised when he came to after what felt like a millennia-long blackout, skin shiny with salt and heat, pleasure humming along his limbs, and tangled so tightly with Jason he couldn't tell where his skin finished and Jason's own began.<p>

"...remind me again why didn't we do this sooner?"

Jason chuckled, a brief, breathless burst against Tim's ear.

"That would be my fault."

"Right. Remind me to kick your ass. Uhm. Wait until my legs stop feeling like jelly, though."

"_That_ good?"

Tim could all but _see_ the smugness dripping from Jason's voice. The whole moving his head and taking aim thing sounded a bit beyond his abilities, so he swatted around blindly, and was rewarded when his palm connected with flesh. Jason's pained noise was brief, and laced with amusement

"_Ouch._ And to think I've kept things pretty tame. No kinky stuff."

Tim whimpered again.

"Don't give me ideas, Jay."

"That was the whole point, pretty bird. There's so much I can show you... so much I can do to you... And you're so fucking eager for me... so fucking _beautiful_..."

Tim whined low in his throat, feeling warmth spread all the way down to his chest.

Jason pressed kisses to the back of Tim's ear, then flicked his tongue between his lips, in and out, in and out, slowly; and there was no mistaking the meaning behind his teasing when Jason pulled back, murmured: "...I'm going to own you so completely, pretty bird."

Tim made a chocked noise, hid his face in the crook of Jason's neck, holding tight onto his lover.

"Hey, hey, none of that now," Jason cupped the back of Tim's head and guided him up where they could be face to face. "What's wrong?"

"It's just – I didn't..." he struggled for words. He could feel the flush warming his cheeks getting hotter, and could only hope it didn't look as bright as it felt. He was mortified. "I-I insisted so much, I seduced you, and then I couldn't even – go through with it, and you must be so – so disappointed now."

Jason's face was blank with incomprehension.

"You didn't go through with it?"

"Yes, I didn't let you – _you know._"

Jason's eyebrow lifted itself.

"Do I?"

Tim worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"We didn't - I mean – you didn't...do... _that_."

"Full sentences, pretty bird. I'm not psychic yet."

"We didn't – because you didn't – get – uh - inside me. So we - _we didn't._"

"Reality check, pretty bird. Even without _penetration_-" he made sure to stress the last word as much as he could and – _there._ The squirming. The blush brightening. The lip-nibbling. If delighting in Tim's mortified reaction made him a bad person, then he was not just bad. He was the absolute worst. "What we did still classified _as sex._"

Tim's blush deepened. His breath shortened. He pushed feebly against Jason, only to be reeled closer, trapped against Jason's naked chest.

"Aww, does this kinda talk embarrass you, pretty bird?"

"Shut up."

"Does it embarrass you that we just," Jason said slowly, hot breath travelling across Tim's cheek, "_had sex?_"

"Shut up, I said."

"Marvellous, hot, mind-blowing-"

"S-shut up.

"-sex," Jason said, breath blowing against the shell of Tim's ear. "sex, sex, _sex._"

"That's it!"

Tim bucked hard against Jason, flipped them around, straddling Jason and catching his fists. There was a brief struggle, some laughter, and then Tim froze on his perch, all of a sudden. He folded on himself with a whine, pressing his face in the curve of Jason's throat, which apparently had become his new favourite hiding place.

"...we did it. We really just... did _it._"

Jason patted him on the hair, grinned against his cooling skin.

"Swift on the uptake as usual, Baby B."

Tim didn't bother to move away from Jason's neck as he reared up a fist and bumped him in the chest.

"You know what I mean." He sighed. "It's just – this is were I usually wake up-"

"You dreamed of this?"

"_No,_ so don't sound so smug," he moved around, pulling away barely enough to glare pointedly at Jason. "I just can't believe we're... together. It took us so long to get here, and now that we are, I - I keep expecting this to end by an second."

"Don't jinx it."

"I'm not _jinxing_ it."

"You totally are, so shut up."

"Jason-"

"Hush. I command you."

"You can't 'command' me."

"As you lover, it's my sacred duty to try."

Tim grinned.

"You're so transparent. You were just fishing for an opening to say that, weren't you?"

"Say what?"

"Lover."

"My, 'that your new nickname for me, Pretty Bird? I like it."

"_Idiot."_

"I dunno, it does sound kinda fancy. Your lover. My lover. I might get used to hearing this. Often."

Tim hummed an agreement, stretching up to catch Jason's bottom lip and roll it between his teeth.

"How much longer can you stay?"

Tim stretched again, enjoying the tingle in his skin, the wet slide of his body against Jason's own.

"What do you mean?"

"Patrol, Tim. How long until you gotta report in?"

Tim froze. Jason looked at him for a moment, and then groaned.

"You forgot! You totally forgot! So, shit, let me rephrase that - how long till Daddy bursts in on us having sex?"

Tim started away.

"He wouldn't!"

"Not to burst your bubble, but he totally would. He probably has you bugged and everything."

Tim made an horrified sound, and scrambled to disentangle himself from Jason. He rolled to the edge of the bed and made as if to get up, but Jason's hand shot out, forced him to sit back down. When Tim turned around, Jason looked shocked, as if he didn't know why he was reaching out for.

Uncertainty played across his face for a moment, before he covered it with a scowl.

"Come here," he ordered gruffly, tugging Tim back into his arms and into another kiss. Tim sighed into his mouth, settling against him, frowning a bit when he was released.

"I don't want to go."

"I know."

"Do you really? Jay, I-"

"Don't wanna go," he stole another kiss. "Trust me, I got that part. But you hafta. I really don't wanna be caught in bed with you by the Batman. That wouldn't end well."

Tim grinned shyly.

"If-if he ever caught us - would you hightail it, or stay and fight for me?"

"Me? Totally hightail it the hell outta town. 'S long as you aren't allergic to sunlight like the little bat-in-training that you are, you'll love my safe house in Saint Martinique."

Tim, whose shoulders had been drooping, perked up suddenly, looking baffled.

"You – you'd take me with you?"

"Slung on my shoulder like a sack of potatoes." Tim mock-punched him. "Okay, okay, I'd carry you princess-style? That better?"

Tim scowled.

"I'm not sure."

Jason sighed.

"No, but you'd still follow if I left you behind, right?"

"Like a shadow."

"So don't complain about how I choose to carry you and get moving."

Tim sighed, but reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. Getting dressed felt like a chore, and when Jason's hands joined to help him, staying naked became all the more appealing.

When he was finally suited back up again (a totally unacceptable amount of time later), Tim let Jason reapply his little domino, then slipped out of Jason's arms and towards the window.

"I'll... be seeing you later, I guess?"

Jason leaned back, arms crossed over his naked chest. Beautifully dishevelled and with a little windblown smirk playing across his lips.

"You asking me?"

Tim forced down his insecurities, chased them away with a firm shake of his head.

"No. _No_, I'm not asking. I'm telling you."

Jason studied him carefully for a moment, racking his eyes down Tim's form in wordless appraisal, and then nodded once, curtly.

"Very well then. See you later."

Tim hesitated as he reached the window.

"Wait for me? I – I want to fall asleep with you."

Jason froze. Didn't quite smile, and didn't quite flush, but he _did_ look a little bit hopeful, all of a sudden.

"That can be arranged."

"Good! I mean – uhm. _Good."_

"Good."

"Nice."

"Yeah."

"I'll be going, now."

"You should."

There was another aborted attempt to get through the window before Tim turned around one more time.

"Just so that you know – I love you."

"Because I'm obviously going to forget that in the next couple of hours."

Tim looked crestfallen.

"No, I just hoped-"

"Jeez, Tim, that was a joke, and _I know what you were aiming for_." Jason racked his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands so tightly his knuckles became white. "It's just – it's hard okay? Damn it, I don't- I _never_- Christ, I suck so hard as this sorta thing." He expelled a few more choice-words, and then took a deep breath, looking like he was trying to sort some internal debate. It took him a moment, but then he squared his jaw, looked Tim in the eye. "Okay, say it again."

"Uh?"

"Say it again."

"What-"

"Tim."

"I don't-"

"_Tim._"

"I – I love you."

"...me too. Now go. Christ, don't make that face! Go, I said. Don't-" Unsurprisingly, he found himself with an armful of Tim, and was almost barrelled over. Tim's body was shivering again – a faint vibration, like a engine put into motion; but he wasn't crying. Farthest from it: he was smiling. Huge and blinding, and Jason could feel his heart beat much too quickly against his ribcage.

"Jay-"

"Hush," he settled his chin on top of Tim's head, gazed somewhere far behind Tim's shoulder,s far across the lambent horizon. "I thought – I thought you should know. You earned it, the way you pestered me. That's all. But – 'me too' is the best I can do right now. So there. Don't go complaining, or-"

"I'm not," Tim pulled back. That heartthrob grin spread across his face. That bubbling, contented happiness it radiated, so foreign on Tim's stern face, and yet belonging so perfectly. It was infectious. It squeezed you around the heart and left you bumbling and grinning and it really ought to be illegal, especially since they didn't have the time to do all the wicked, _wicked_ things that marvellous grin invited Jason to do.

They stole another kiss (or several), before Jason managed to usher Tim out the window and into the night.

He felt sluggish still, and the madness coursed through his veins. But there was a smile on his face (so unlike a _smirk_) and a book on his bedside table and pictures to pick up from the floor and arrange again, because he had a promise to keep, and he didn't mind keeping himself occupied and wait awake; not when the reward he'd been promised was to be so sweet.

_I'll lay down beside you each night, _

_I'll hold you close and _

_kiss you and rock you gently _

_and chase away the shadows from your dreams, _

_so that you might never again _

_wake up alone in the dark._


End file.
